


Decomposer Apocalypse

by fenella



Category: Classical Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen, Yuletide, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenella/pseuds/fenella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix and Franz work in a coffee shop, Franz thinks Beethoven is the coolest person alive, and the zombies are coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decomposer Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dussek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dussek/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! This got very silly, I'm sorry ;) xx

It started like any other day in New Austria, but then the thing with the zombies happened.

"Heads up," said Felix, turning to find Franz. "Beethoven is incoming in three, two-"

 _Chime_ , went the bells over the door as Beethoven strode into the Vienna, looking like his usual stern self. The sea of bodies stuffed into the crowded coffee shop parted effortlessly, after Beethoven forcibly moved a banker by the shirt collar.

Franz looked up helplessly at his fellow barista, from his crouched position behind the counter. "Help," he mouthed. "I panicked."

Felix rolled his eyes and turned towards the customer. "Hello Sir, the usual?"  Felix was a paragon of virtue and good service.

Beethoven nodded gruffly. "Please," he answered. And then with a sense of urgency, slid his sunglasses down his nose. "I think I'm being followed today."

"Um," said Felix. "I just make lattes, but there's a police station around the corner."

Beethoven glared at Felix for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "That's funny. You're funny."

Felix turned and winked at Franz, who gaped accusingly at him in return. "That will be three-fifty, Sir."

Beethoven nodded and handed the money across the counter.

"So, ah, who's following you then?" asked Felix conversationally.

Beethoven coughed discreetly. "The zombies."

"Oh, cool, cool," said Felix with what Franz thought to be an admirable air of nonchalance, for such a startling reveal. "Cool. And what are the zombies doing?"

Beethoven stared at him blankly, as if Felix were a halfwit. "They're decomposing," he said.

"Oh, right," said Felix, giving Franz a look as if to say this guy is mental, I don't know why you think he's devastatingly awesome. "Naturally."

 _Chime_.

Beethoven accepted his espresso from over the counter, without turning to see who had entered the shop. "That's one of them," he said, with distaste. "Can you hear that?"

"No?" said Felix, obviously confused. "I can't hear anything."

Beethoven's mouth settled into a grim line. "Exactly. It's deafening."

And then in rapid succession, Beethoven downed his espresso, pulled a gun, and shot a zombie at point blank in the middle of the Vienna's Thursday morning crowd. Franz also fainted, which Felix unfeelingly thought was a little unjustified; from his position crouched behind the counter, he was the one person who wasn't immediately splattered by zombie brains.

Mr. Vogl, the Vienna's proprietor, wasn't going to be pleased either. After the incident with Elgar and the leprechaun hunters, a clear _No Firearms on the Premises_  sign had been installed over the entrance. 

*

When Franz went home that night, after all the mess had been cleared, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he was being followed. The city streets were empty and quiet, save for his own footsteps, but a nagging wind tugged at his scarf and seemed to say _child, come with me_.

It wasn't until he was in his apartment, tucked away with the door deadlocked, that Franz felt safe. He switched the radio on, blaring music so that he wouldn't notice the sound of the trees, scratching their branches against the window.  _Let me in, come with me._

*

"So," said Felix when Franz stumbled into work the next morning, after a poor night's sleep. "How's things. Write any good music? Get eaten by any zombies?"

Franz grimaced. "You're the worst."

Felix shrugged. "Sure, probably. Are we not going to talk about the fact that your idol is a zombie killer? I think we should talk about that."

"He's also a brilliant musician," sniffed Franz.

"About that," indulged Felix. "I think it might be a front."

Franz stiffened. "A person can be more than one thing, Felix."

"Okay," said Felix. "You can do till, and make all the drinks today."

"What are you going to be doing?"

Felix's eyes widened dramatically. "I don't know yet. Living for the moment, probably. I'm feeling very alive after yesterday. Take a road trip? Or maybe just nap in the back."

"Do you think," asked Franz, ignoring Felix's rambling tangent. "That Beethoven will come back in today?"

Felix shrugged, as if he weren't just as curious as Franz. "Maybe, he hasn't missed a day in the past two years."

"Actually," said Franz. "He has. April 12th, of last year."

"Huh," said Felix. "You're terrifying sometimes. Do you think I should grow a moustache?"

"No. But on April 13th, Beethoven brought his nephew Karl into the Vienna for the first time."

"The sullen preteen?"

"Yeah,"  sighed Franz, a little too dreamily for Felix to feel comfortable about the whole thing.

Beethoven didn't come into the Vienna that day, or the next three.

*

What had begun with  _Hey, let's go knock on his door and make sure he's still Ludwig van Alive_  had progressed to a wild hunt from one abandoned apartment to another. Franz sighed heavily as they climbed the steps to the address they'd received from the elderly couple at the previous apartment. 

"How can one man move so many times in a year?" he asked.

Felix shrugged. "If I were being stalked by the paparazzi, zombies, and a hoard of fans who published my address on the internet, I would move every week too."

Franz made his discontented, strangled frog noise, the one that reminded Felix so much of the muppets. He looked like he wanted to take Beethoven home, make him a cup of tea, and tuck him into bed for a good night's rest.

"Say, Franz," drawled Felix. "You're not one of those people that keeps tigers at home as pets, are you?"

"What?"

"I'm just curious. You seem to think that zombie killer Beethoven is a poor, defenceless bunny."

Franz was indignant. "I do not! I think he's perfectly capable of making his own tea! And writing stunning, sublime symphonies that transcend human experience-"

"Alright, alright," protested Felix. "Spare me. He might be a genius, but he's also a cranky fucker."

"Hello," said Beethoven, standing in the apparently open doorway, his hair in a state of disarray and his shirt half unbuttoned. "Can I help you."

Felix coughed meaningfully. This was Franz's moment. Franz. Felix looked around, and then down, because Franz was small, but his fellow barista was nowhere to be found. Felix half expected to find cartoon road-runner tracks, but there were none of those either. Just an awkward, tense silence. Those first four, ominous notes of Beethoven's own fifth symphony played over on a loop in Felix's head. _Dah dah dah duh._

"Look, man," said Felix after an eternity. "After the zombie incident in our coffee shop, the Vienna, we- I just wanted make sure you were okay. And here you are, so clearly okay. Yeah, you don't need any help with the whole undead situation."

The bushes to Felix's left coughed meaningfully, and held out a file folder, which Felix grabbed after a moment of objective disgust.

"And I have this colleague who's kind of your biggest fan, and also a giant tool, but a pretty alright composer, so look at his music, maybe? I mean, I enjoy DJ Tchaik's dance remixes of your stuff, especially live - the whole club just vibrates with sound, it's the best - but Franz,  he's a purist. There was a time, before I took his privileges away see, that we listened to your piano sonata in F for three weeks straight in the Vienna. We lost a lot of customers. Which is not a reflection on your music at all. Sir. Just, what I'm trying to say is that-"

"It would mean a lot," squeaked the hedge.

"Yeah, that," said Felix, attempting to match Franz's high-pitch. "It would mean a lot."

Beethoven gingerly reached forward and took the folder from Felix's grasp.

"Good talk," said Felix.

"I bought an espresso machine," said Beethoven, nodding curtly. 

Felix had time for a dramatic, affronted gasp before the door slammed in his face.

"Did," squeaked the hedge. "Did Beethoven just break up with us?"

*

Beethoven preferred to work alone. It wasn't frightening or sad; he knew was part of something bigger, more inexplicable, and awe-inspiring than individual efforts could ever afford. As a young man, he had visited billowing cathedrals, figures on the ceilings adorned in threads of gold.  _We are all connected_ they seemed to say, reaching out to him with tendrils of comfort.  _There is enough love for everyone_. Even in times of sorrow and isolation, Beethoven felt the acute presence of a deeply joyful love.

For Beethoven, composing was the most satisfying act of togetherness; weaving together voices to claim a space for humanity, one unhampered by the pettiness of physicality and circumstance. Which is why he was especially ill-tempered when the zombies came, stealing that mindful order and leaving empty, ringing chaos in their wake. The war was personal, and Beethoven was unyielding. He would take them down, every last one, and their leader, the _Immortal Beloved_.

But really it was Felix's nervous ramblings that tipped him off; the zombies, and their mindless consumption of vibration.

*

"I can't see anything," shouted Franz.

"What?!" shouted Felix in return. "I can't hear you, it's so loud in here."

"I said," screamed Franz, "I am easily the shortest person in this club. And I can't see anything!"

Felix shrugged on beat, turning it into a dance move. "You don't need to see, just move! Enjoy dem beats." 

Up on stage, the legendary DJ Tchaik was masterminding the world's greatest dance party when the silhouette of a man in a long coat appeared on stage. Beethoven.

"Oh, fuck," said Felix and performed a slow motion dive which forced both he and Franz behind a large, decorative column. From their vantage point, they watched the mob of a crowd, grinding to the artfully mixed music. They were moving as if they had one singular mind, or were puppets on a string, almost as if they were-

"Oh, fuck," said Franz. 

A large net dropped from the roof of the warehouse, trapping all the zombies on the dance floor. And then the music died, Beethoven standing with a thick electrical cord grasped in each hand and DJ Tchaik turning to face him as if to say  _WTF, man?_

Felix gasped. "Is DJ Tchaik the evil zombie overlord?"

Franz gulped. "This is why I hate nightclubs."

"Really?" asked Felix, turning to look at Franz properly. "This happens often when you go out?"

"Now is not the time, Felix," snapped Franz, as the zombies began to get enraged, realizing they were trapped. "I think his plan is backfiring."

Felix could see that Franz was right. "You get to the stage, I'll go get backup."

"I can't go up there!" shrieked Franz. "I'll get eaten!"

Felix gave him a look. "I genuinely can't tell if you're concerned about Beethoven or the Zombies. And I don't really care, either. Go!"

Franz stuck out his chin, looking petulant. "Yeah, alright. Don't die."

"Cheers, mate."

Franz squeezed around the sides of the zombie net, troding apologetically on fingers trying to grab his shoes and pants. He hoped that none of them were musicians, zombies or not. "Turn the music back on," he yelled as he approached the stage. But Beethoven and DJ Tchaik, in a raving argument, were oblivious to his pleas. 

*

"Jackpot," said Felix. He'd taken a risk, spending precious minutes flirting with that bouncer to get up to the electrical catwalk, but it had paid off in dividends. Felix was now staring at the master soundboard for the club. "Why hello, beautiful."

*

Franz would never forget the image of Beethoven's silhouette, feet planted firmly on the stage of  _The Nutcracker_ , as if he was an ancient tree sprung from the ground. Beethoven's face was turned upwards in bliss as the ear-bleeding volume of music rattled the warehouse loose from the ground, two thousand zombies writhing in agony and ultimately turning to a whirling cloud of dust. With a final _CRACK_  and _BANG_ , and a few fiery sparks, the sound-system in the club short-circuited.

A dull roar settled in Franz's ears, his hands coming up to rub at them tenderly. There are a few confused humans on the largely empty dance floor, trying to paw their way out of the zombie net. Felix's hysterical laughter could be heard from the rafters.

Beethoven locked eyes with Franz.

"Um, hi," squeaked Franz, finally finding the courage to address Beethoven directly, after defeating some serious evil.

Beethoven stared at him. "Are you Schubert?"

Franz got chills. "Yes, that's me."

"Good. This did not happen, we were never here. You have some errors in your voice-leading, would you like me to show you?"

"Yes, he would," shouted Felix from the ceiling.

And then with noticeable regret, "Not to alarm anyone but DJ Tchaik is sneaking out the back with what looks like an evil swan."

*

 ****It started like any other day in New Austria, but then the thing with the wizards happened.

"Beethoven incoming," said Felix.

"Oh great," said Franz with enthusiasm, and only a small tremour. "Hi, Sir, here is your espresso. I made it thirty seconds ago in anticipation of you being here. Exactly now."

"Dork," said Felix.

"Uh, thank you," said Beethoven.

Felix coughed pointedly. "Not to interrupt this happy reunion, but don't you have a shiny machine at home that makes this stuff now?"

"Oh Felix," said Franz with feeling. "We don't need to talk about that."

Beethoven had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I may have thrown it out the window at my accountant."

"Right," said Felix. "Of course. As one does."

"But then it hit my neighbour Schumann, which was an unfortunate accident, and I think his wife Clara and their associate Joe are now trying to hex me."

"Hex you?" asked Franz, his voice climbing. "They wouldn't follow you here, to the Vienna, would they?"

 _Chime_.

"Excuse me," said Beethoven, downing his espresso with purpose.

*

 


End file.
